Shadow and Smoke
by MangKulas
Summary: He is the flash from the corner of your eye, the figure behind you in the mirror, the whisper in the still air of an empty room, the prickle in your skin. For Mamori, Hiruma's physical absence does not necessarily mean he's gone. Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Eyeshield 21.
1. Empty Rooms

For years, Hiruma haunted Mamori.

At first, it hadn't been so bad. Sure, she would cry herself to sleep and so on. And she had theorized that crying so much the night before was what started it. On mornings, hovering between sleeping and waking, she could have sworn that his hand had been on her shoulder as she lay on her side, his breath tickling her nape. And she would turn, murmuring, "I missed you." But of course, she would get jolted awake, because there was no one there.

Without fail, it would happen everyday. And it should have made her mad or sadder, but her heart would lighten, feeling the warmth of a body that wasn't there. No doubt, her mother would have called her crazy, but if it took an illusion to make her feel better, then she wasn't going to question it. Perhaps, it was her mind's way of dealing with Hiruma's absence.

Then, it started to happen that she thought he was there during the day, too. Like whenever she washed the dishes, she would feel eyes on her back; and she would turn, expecting a tall figure leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, but of course, there would be no one. Or when she was hanging up laundry, the sheets billowing, and she saw black, pointed shoes beneath the sheets. She would hurry to the other side, but it was just her, the sun and, the wind.

But more incidents followed. Like the gum and gun smell. How had that happened again? It was half a year ago. She remembered she had been talking to Izuko-san, her classmate in one of her Education courses, on the couch in her small apartment. He had been saying something about seeing a movie together, when the smell had hit her.

"_Do you smell that?" Mamori had said, unintentionally cutting off Izuko._

_Izuko frowned, "what?"_

"_Like somebody discharged a gun."_

_Izuko laughed. "You think of the strangest things, Mamori-chan."_

"_No, it's really there," Mamori had insisted. She had gotten up and was walking into her bedroom, "and I can smell gum, too."_

_Izuko had stood up. "Mamori, what about seeing a movie…"_

_But Mamori had walked out of the bedroom, past him, without a glance. "Maybe, it's coming from the kitchen."_

"_I don't smell anything," Izuko said._

_Mamori stood in the middle of the living room, puzzling. "Izuko-kun, I'm so sorry, but is it okay if we continue this another time?"_

_Izuko had started. "Uh, oh. Okay." He had sort of slumped. "Okay."_

The smell had remained for days. It started to even permeate her clothes, so that she got used to it. She only remembered when Sena, Suzuna, and Monta had come over for dinner, and they had asked her if she had bought a gun. She had shaken her head, laughing. But she didn't say anything else, and they didn't ask, as well.

Then, something else happened, three months after the dinner.

It was during one of the moonless nights of the month. Mamori's room was been pitch-black, curtains drawn. She was on her bed; her legs squeezed together, her hand between her legs. Throughout the day, she had been thinking of Hiruma's long fingers. His palm. His lips and his tongue. It had left a coiled tension in her lower body that now coiled up tighter.

She thought of the length of his body, over her own. The feel of his wide shoulders. His skin was always so hot. The muscles underneath, the ridges and the valleys, hard and firm.

_Fucking manager, whatever happened to that prim and proper disciplinary officer?_

"Shut up, Hiruma." She said without thinking. And then she gasped as she felt a tongue lick the side of her face. She realized there was a weight pressing on her lower body, hands making indentations on either side of her. "You're not here. This is just my imagination."

_Kekeke. Fantasy's closer to it._And there was lips covering her mouth. In spite of herself, Mamori's hands came up and touched the side of a solid face. His face. His ears, silver earrings in place. She wished there was a little bit of light, his earrings glinted beautifully when he was having sex with her, driving her, so that she could only hold on, moans rising uncontrollably, her eyes fixed on one of his ears.

Liquid spilled into her panties at the memory. And Mamori almost jumped out of her skin, feeling Hiruma's long finger slyly slipping underneath the cloth of her panties. She could not help make the small sound in her throat. "What are you doing, Hiruma?"

_This is a fantasy, remember. No more questions, fucking manager._

He turned her. She was on her knees and her hands, and she felt Hiruma sliding down her panties. And Mamori heard distinctly, the sound of his zipper, and she felt, warm and firm against her butt cheek, his shaft. She trembled, her desire making her breathe faster, in shallow gulps. She moaned as he came inside her.

_You're so hot, the inside of you._

Could a ghost's voice sound ragged? The thought flew out of her head when she felt Hiruma's hips move. Pummeling into her. It tore a long, moan from her throat. He went faster, and faster, the delicious coil in her crotch becoming unbearable. And there were no more words, no other noise, only the sound of their flesh, lightly slapping, and their uneven breathing. And even that fell away as the pleasure rose so intensely that Mamori felt tears filling her eyes.

Mamori exploded, a stream of liquid running down her thighs. She felt Hiruma's guttural growl, his thighs pressing against the back of her own, and his chest on her back.

Her legs and arms collapsed, weak from pleasure. She felt his solid weight settle on top of her, his lips still pressing on the skin of her shoulder when she fell asleep.

When Mamori woke the next day, she shot up to a sitting position and checked underneath her night gown. She was wearing her panties. She lay back on bed with a sigh. She thought to herself, that was a particularly fevered dream.

_What are you doing, lying down, fucking manager? Don't you have class?_

She went still. And tears began to course down her face, even as she shook her head.

_Stop overthinking it; you're going to spoil your appetite for breakfast._A breeze stirred her curtain and lifted tendril's of Mamori's hair. And they felt like Hiruma's long fingers playing with her hair.

Mamori exhaled and decided to take Hiruma's advice. She stood up and went to the bathroom. As she picked up her toothbrush and squeezed some toothpaste onto it, she looked up, and her hand stopped, midway to her mouth.

In the mirror, Hiruma was standing behind her, leaning against the doorway jamb of the bathroom. He was leering at her. He was wearing a black shirt and black pants. He had his hands in his pocket.

Mamori started to turn to look, but she stopped herself. She faced the mirror again and started to brush her teeth carefully, still looking at Hiruma. He remained standing by the doorway. As she washed out her mouth, Hiruma took out a piece of gum from his pocket and he started to unwrap it. He popped it into his mouth as Mamori put back the toothbrush on the cup, her eyes on him. But because she wasn't looking at what she was doing, she knocked the cup to the floor with a _thunk_, startling her.

Mamori had flicked her eyes to the floor, and when she looked up again, Hiruma was gone from the mirror. Mamori whirled around, the cup rolling around her feet. But the room was empty.

It didn't feel empty. Anezaki Mamori smiled.

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There was one day that Mamori's mother had called her, scolding her.

"Why didn't you call me over to take care of you, Mamori?"

"Hello to you, too, Mom." She said, laughing, "Don't worry, I'm okay now."

"If Sena hadn't gone by yesterday, I wouldn't have even known about it."

"Yeah, he caught me on the last day of my flu."

Her mother started to say something, then she stopped.

"What is it?"

"Do you…have a boyfriend, Mamori?"

Mamori's brow wrinkled in confusion. "No. I'm too busy with my job and college, Mom. Being a teaching assistant for high school delinquents is no joke."

"Oh."

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, dear. Sena had just thought someone was taking care of you. There was soup, water, and medicine by your bed. And you had a cold compress on your forehead. He even thought there was somebody in the apartment when he came in. A classmate of yours or something."

Mamori smiled. "No, Mom, it was just…me."

"Ah. Well, aren't you going to start seeing some nice boys, Mamori?"

Mamori heard a gun click and a gum popping. She laughed.

"What?" her mother said, indignantly.

"It's okay. Don't worry about me."

Her mother sighed. "My dear, you should really move on. I mean, it's been two years already. We don't know where Hiruma-kun is. I liked him very much, but if I had known he was going to make you this sad—"

"Mom," Mamori gently interrupted. "I told you not to worry, right?"

There was silence on the other line.

This time, it was Mamori who sighed. "I have him in my heart; it seems he's going to be there for a good long while. And it's not a matter of holding on stubbornly. There were many nights I cried, not from missing him, but wishing I could stop thinking about him—"

_Is that so, fucking manager?_

Mamori ignored the voice. "And I think accepting that I still love him, will love him, is actually making me better, Mom. So while I appreciate what you're trying to do for me. I think I'm happy right now just the way it is. Maybe, someday, I'll be ready. But not now."

"All right. But dear, I'm just afraid that you'll keep waiting and waiting, and before you know it-"

Mamori laughed. "I don't think it'll be that dramatic. I promise you I won't be that 80-year old woman sitting by herself in the park, still waiting for her man to come."

After a moment, her mother laughed, as well. "Fine, fine. I suppose it does sound a little ridiculous. I'll see you next week, then."

"Okay."

And when she put down the phone, she saw on the floor, another shadow beside her shadow, a thin tendril of shadow smoke rising from it.

"You haven't given up smoking?" She asked of the empty room.

_Have you given up cream puffs?_

She stuck her tongue out, and immediately felt foolish. She shook her head, if her mother saw her like this, a phone call would definitely not be the end of it.

It could have probably gone on, for quite some time. It felt natural, even if it was anything but.

Mamori thought of it as dreaming awake. After all, nobody else could hear or feel him. Aside from that one incident with Sena, Suzuna, and Monta smelling the guns, it was only Mamori who could still see his shadow, or his reflection, or feel him solidly at night. It would have been fine and dandy, she could have still convinced herself that it was just her missing him so much, her mind's way of dealing with the situation.

Except she realized a few days after her mom's phone call that she hadn't had a period for two months.

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End of Chapter 1: Empty Rooms


	2. Immaculate Conception

Mamori took a look at the test kit again.

Positive.

It was still positive.

She was positively pregnant, even though she hadn't had sex with anyone for the past two years.

Well, discounting the extremely vivid dream with Hiruma, that is.

It was a dream, wasn't it? Mamori slowly raised her head and looked at herself in the mirror of her bathroom; she stared at the spot where she had seen Hiruma. He wasn't there now. He hadn't been for the past few days.

Maybe, her brain finally got kicked into consciousness, and all her wishful hallucinations finally stopped, scared by something as real and substantial as a fetus in her womb. Because while she could hallucinate all she wanted for the past few months, this was something else already.

Those visions of Hiruma weren't real, were they?

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She had been deathly afraid of going to the doctor. But she made the appointment. Because like it or not, she was feeling changes in her body. She could practically hear the second heartbeat in her body. And for all that she thought she'd been seeing Hiruma around the apartment, smelling his smell and feeling him at night even though she knew he wasn't there, she hadn't been scared before. In fact, she'd drawn comfort from it. It had been a welcome respite from the loneliness she'd been feeling. But now…

Now, she was scared. After she took the home pregnancy test and found that second blue bar materializing, she had lain in her bed, clutching her stomach, because it had been so full of knots. She fancied as she lay there, breathing in and out, in and out, that she could hear an echo of her heartbeat. A thudding that followed her own, like footsteps following you in a dark street, one that kept up with you even as you ran, ran so hard that you were afraid to look behind you. And that thudding, it seemed to grow louder every second, every time she exhaled. Until it drowned out everything else and Mamori put her hands to her ears, trying not to hear that heartbeat.

She didn't sleep that night.

When morning light finally streamed into her room, Mamori had gotten up, made some coffee and waited until 9AM to make a call to her doctor. She asked for the soonest appointment possible.

"Would this coming Monday be fine, Anezaki-san?" The male voice asked politely.

Mamori thought about her sleepless night, "I'm so sorry to ask, but do you possibly have something sooner, please?"

The receptionist paused. "Well, I did have someone cancel their appointment today, but that may be too sudden for—"

"That's perfect." Mamori said instantly. "What time is it?"

"Oh," he sounded taken aback, "it's at 2PM, Anezaki-san. Miss, if this was an emergency-"

"No, no, I just need to confirm something, and I've just been really anxious. I can wait until 2PM."

"All right," he said cautiously.

"Okay," Mamori laughed. "I'm so sorry for scaring you. I'll see you at 2."

"That's quite all right. At 2 then, Anezaki-san. Thank you."

"Thank you." Mamori put down the phone and stared at it.

She should definitely call her mother, too. Mamori had to make her excuses, after all; if it turned out that she was pregnant, Mamori wasn't going to visit her mother this week. She wouldn't know how to explain to her mother. And even though she didn't _need_ to say anything, it was just going to be too…weird.

But should she call somebody else? Tell somebody else? Like Sena? Suzuna? _Sena, I'm pregnant; but I'm not sure how it happened. I think it may have been from a dream with Hiruma in it._

Hmm. Maybe not. Maybe she should just see if she really was pregnant, then worry about the telling when she got there.

She stood up and went to shower, eager to be out of the house.

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The hospital receptionist who had made her appointment was out on lunch. The woman in scrubs had frowned when Mamori said she had an appointment, and asked if she was sure. Mamori confirmed it and said that she had just made it this morning. It was sort of an emergency, Mamori said apologetically.

The woman looked up the appointment book in their computer, and her frown cleared up. "I'm so sorry, Anezaki-san. Yes, I do see your name down here. Kai-kun must have forgotten to tell me when he went out for lunch. I don't mean to sound hard. I know some hospitals don't really bother with appointments, but we're trying to be vigilant about that here to keep our patients from waiting for hours to see a doctor. Let me give you the forms to fill out. Are you a student?"

"Yes," Mamori said. "But I work."

"Well, you can settle your copay when you leave."

"Thank you." And Mamori went back to her seat. All throughout filling out the forms, then being led to the doctor, Mamori found that dread was growing in her stomach.

Even though her doctor turned out to be a pleasant and plump woman who reminded Mamori of an indulgent grandmother, she could not seem to smile. And thank god, the _sensei _seemed to understand. She did not press Mamori very much, talking little. When the _sensei_ took her blood and went out to do the test, Mamori waited in the white consultation room, fidgeting. She hated these white rooms. They were so cold.

A knock sounded. Igawa-_sensei_, her doctor, popped her head in. "Anezaki-san, sorry for the wait."

Mamori shivered.

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Igawa-_sensei _had asked if she was all right. Did she want an abortion?

Mamori shook her head and said she would think about it.

Igawa-_sensei _had looked at her kindly and said, if you are going to keep the baby, you should take pre-natal pills and get some brochures and information for your diet. Mamori nodded, numbed. May I call you again in a week? Mamori had asked.

Of course, Igawa-_sensei _said graciously.

Mamori came out of the office feeling as if everything was coming from far away. Even the colors seemed to be trying to catch up with objects, so that a man wearing blue scrubs trailed blue and the flowers one child was carrying had a riot of color extending behind him. When Mamori went to pay at the lobby, the woman was no longer there. It was a man. Kai-kun, maybe.

He glanced up at her.

Anezaki. She had said dully. Just paying for the copay.

For a moment, the man didn't responded. Ahh, you are Anezaki-san?

She nodded.

Do—do you need a priest?

She frowned. "What?" she said, focusing.

The man stood up and went around the table, he took her by the arm and started walking with her. "I'm terribly sorry, Anezaki-san. I'm just worried. I'm Ichiro Kai. I spoke to you on the phone," with hardly any pause, he said, "there's someone following you."

Mamori whirled to look around.

"Please keep walking," the young man implored, catching her arm again. "If you pay more mind to them, the more you'll see them."

"Wha-"

"You should visit a priest," Kai-kun said hurriedly. "I know of one who can help you. It's a bit of a trip—"

"Wait. Wait a minute." Mamori disengaged and turned to face the Kai-kun. "You can see _him_."

The young man nodded, sweating.

And Mamori didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. And it turned out that she could only sink to the ground. Around them, hospital staff and patients were curiously watching and some were whispering

"Anezaki-san?" Kai leaned down. "Are you all right?"

"Where is he?" Mamori said, her mouth dry. She could not ask the real question she wanted to ask: is he really dead?

Kai looked at her. "He's standing behind you, now, and glaring at me."

"What does he look like?" Mamori demanded.

Kai caught her arms again. "Let me get you coffee."

"What does he look like?" Mamori said again as she shook him off.

Kai looked down at her uncertainly, "Blonde, and he has angular features."

And even though Mamori had asked, she closed her eyes and dropped her face into her hands. The tears were already welling up.

A moment later, she felt the firm hands of Kai. She looked up at him. "There's something strange here, Anezaki-san. The man…he doesn't seem to be all there." He said, hesitantly.

Mamori only looked at him.

Kai blushed. "I know that sounds stupid. If I'm claiming to see a spirit, he shouldn't be _all_ there. But even this one is stranger, Anezaki-san. It's as if he's not even half a spirit."

Mamori frowned, brushing away the tears. "What are you talking about?"

"I…think you should visit a priest I know."

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End of Chapter Two: Immaculate Conception


	3. Equivalent Trade

-"The old tales, as Gertrude Mueller Nelson has succinctly expressed it (in her Jungian study, _Here All Dwell Free_) are about 'anguish and darkness.' They plunge heroines and heroes into the dark wood, into danger and despair and enchantment and deception, and only then offer them the tools to save themselves — tools that must be used wisely and well."

Terry Windling, Cinderella: Ashes, Blood and the Slipper of Glass

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"_Three and a half hours west from here is a mountain by the sea. Take a train to the foot of this mountain."_

It was beautiful. Mamori had been cooped up in the city for so long, she'd forgotten how breathtaking the countryside was, especially here. Colors seemed brighter. Candy-colored flowers jumped out from among foliage that was so green, Mamori could _feel _the freshness of the leaves. Sounds were louder, too. Mamori supposed it was because of the quiet. Every bird twitter and crack and crunch of the leaves and twigs underneath seemed to travel far. And the sunlight that streamed through the tall trees had lightened Mamori's step; walking through sunbeams made her feel like a child at play.

_When you get off the train, transfer to a bus and that will take you halfway up, where there is an inn and an onsen. Once you're there, find one of the janitors; they should know a guide willing to take you up further."_

But it had been, no doubt, a long day. Mamori shook her head. She could only blame herself. She could have stayed at the inn for the night and relaxed in the hot springs. But knowing that her answers were perhaps just only two hours more away, she had asked for the guide already.

"_Listen to your guide. Even if there are tourists and an inn up there, the mountain is still a wild place."_

Mamori glanced back at her guide, a man who could have looked 20 or 40, so sun-darkened was he. He smiled widely at her. She shivered.

"We're almost there." The man called out cheerfully.

She nodded, her lips turning up slightly. "That's good to hear." _In more ways than one, _thought Mamori. At the next rise, Mamori could see the land flattening out a little.

The temple when she did see it, took her by surprise. It seemed like it was almost carved into the mountain. No dainty square-shaped buildings and turned-up rooftop corners. It was an enormous rough half dome, the walls veined and the windows, mere slits that could have passed for natural cracks. There was no yard, the trees grew almost right up to the walls. The only thing that marked it as man-made were the steps in the front, leading up to a heavy wooden door. By the door, there stood a gong, held up by two posts.

Mamori and her guide paused in front of it. She looked at her guide, but the man stood there, still grinning from ear to ear. It unnerved Mamori, enough to propel her feet up the steps. She took hold of the striker tied to one of the posts and raised it.

"No need for that, young lady."

Mamori jerked and the striker clattered by the gong. Nearby, a flock of birds took flight from a single tree, their shrill cries piercing the stillness. Underneath the same tree, nestled among the roots of the tree was an old, wizened man. He grinned at them, the wrinkles in his face swallowing up his bright, black eyes, so that they were mere glints in his brown, homely face. "Good day, good day!" he said, animated. "Young man, could you do me a favor?"

Mamori looked at her guide whose smile now had faltered. He did not say anything.

"There's a well on the other side of the temple; be kind to me and draw me three buckets of water. These gnarly hands aren't up to the job, anymore."

For a moment, the guide stood not saying anything, and Mamori, for some reason, started feeling anxious. But the guide finally swiveled, his wide smile back in place. He walked off to the other side of the small clearing. Mamori watched him.

"My dear."

Mamori turned back to the old man. He was patting the tree root beside him. "Won't you come and sit by me?"

She nodded and walked to the tree. She settled herself gingerly on the tree root.

"What's your name, my dear?"

"Anezaki Mamori, _ojii-san_."

"My name is Hayashida."

"Please take care of me, Hayashida-san."

The old man nodded. "Well, we'll see if we can do that. What brings you all the way up here?"

Mamori hesitated. But Hayashida sat there patiently, wrinkles cheerfully swallowing up his eyes and he looked as if he could have waited a hundred years.

"I'm pregnant," she said. And she exhaled. Well, there it was. It was said now.

The old man's eyebrows rose. "Oh, congratulations. Do you need me to bless the child?"

"No, " Mamori shook her head. "Hayashida-san, you don't understand. I don't have a husband-"

"Well, nowadays, people are more open about that."

"No, see I was about to say, I don't have a husband, and my boyfriend's been missing for two years now."

"Well, Mamori-san, I'm not going to judge you and say you're a loose woman."

"Hayashida-san, I haven't had sex for two years!" And Mamori's voice was left to echo in the clearing. She promptly turned scarlet.

"Well," said Hayashida-san, so somberly, Mamori _just knew_ he was trying to keep from laughing.

Mamori dropped her face into her hands. "I missed him so much. You don't know how much." She began to laugh. "It's so ridiculous, too. On the first day that I saw him, I already didn't like him. I thought to myself that I would stop outrageous students like him. Then he got my childhood friend into his crazy American football team and I had to sign up as the manager to keep him from killing my _kohai_. I mean, he carried guns, he threatened people, he blackmailed people, he teased me mercilessly, I don't even know why I love him so much." And Mamori felt the warm hand on her shoulder and when she looked up, the old man was looking at her kindly.

"It's all right, my dear."

And Mamori realized that she was crying. She wiped off the tears, laughing. "Well, anyway, it began with the mornings. I would wake up from a dream and feel his hand or his breath. But of course he wasn't there. Then, one night, I had a really vivid dream that he…" she started blushing fiercely, "and well, something happened in the dream. Then, two months later, I was pregnant. I really think I'm starting to lose touch with reality."

Hayashida-san snorted. "Lose touch with reality? Let me tell you something, Mamori-san, a friend of mine once said that reality is nothing more than a perspective, a point of view, if you will. Now, what you're scared of isn't losing touch with reality, but of something becoming real."

Mamori looked at him, "Is it real, then?" She asked, her voice steady. "Am I really carrying his child?"

The old man sighed. "Is that what you really want to ask?"

Mamori looked away.

"My dear, the real question you want to ask is: Is he coming back? More than being afraid of the uncanny, you fear that all that will be left of him are these half-dreams, shadows, reflections and this child."

"What does this mean, Hayashida-san?" She whispered. "Was it his ghost? Is he dead? What does it _mean_?"

Hayashida-san shook his head. "This could be his ghost, but it seems less and more than that. As if he were memory and love and spirit and sorrow." And Hayashida was frowning at a point in front of them. He shook his head again. "I have never seen anything like it."

And Mamori felt the black hopelessness rise. "What do I do? How do I bring him back?"

"Do you read manga, Mamori-san?"

Mamori frowned. The question had taken her totally by surprise. "What?"

"I do. If only I could attend the conventions," the old man sighed. "I love manga. The stories, the drama, the action, the love!" His eyes were shining.

"Oh."

Hayashida-san grinned at her. "I especially like this manga called Full-Metal Alchemist. It's very well-made. And xxxHolic. Too cute, too cute." He paused as he saw Mamori's puzzlement. He coughed. "Ah, but what I wanted to say is that in both of those stories, there is a very important concept called equivalent trade. You cannot make something out of nothing. Nor can you get something without paying, one way or another, a fair and equal price."

Mamori frowned. "But what about love? What about sacrifice? Both give and receive nothing."

"Pah! When have you ever seen love survive where only one person gives and only one person takes? That is nothing more than parasitism. And sacrifice? My dear, if somebody shoots at your childhood friend and you get in the way to save him, do you think there is no payment?"

Mamori said nothing.

"You don't think your friend will feel guilty? You don't think he will pay with sadness? Forever burdened? Even sacrifice has a price." The old man continued.

Mamori stood up, shaking with anger. "Are you saying this baby was the universe compensating me for losing Hiruma? That's it?"

Hayashida smiled. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. That guide should be done about now, here let me give you something." He reached into his robe, and took out a spool of red thread.

Mamori looked at him, her anger tempered by puzzlement once more, "What's this?"

In the distance, the guide was coming back with two buckets. He set them down by the door of the temple and waved at them, grinning. Then, he went back into the trees.

Hayashida smiled up at her, "It's a symbol. Symbols are important, Mamori-san. Please keep it with you. And remember, equivalent trade." He lost his smile for a moment. "You're a very nice girl; I would never wish you the unhappiness of choosing. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? What do you mean, choosing?"

Hayashida never answered her. He pointed at the sky. "It's about to get dark soon, you had better go."

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The sky was red.

Reminded, Mamori touched the spool of thread in her pocket, wondering what it was for. Was it part of Hayashida-san's answer to her? What did he mean equivalent trade? Mamori thought that perhaps she should read whatever manga Hayashida-san had mentioned. She wondered, if Hayashida-san really believed in that equivalent trade, what was his price for answering her question, then? Or for the spool of thread? She should send him something. At least as a thank you.

Distracted with her thoughts, she only had half an eye on where she was stepping on the trail. So Mamori was unprepared when her foot slid under loose rock, and she yelped, her hands flinging out to catch hold of something.

Something caught her. Mamori felt the jerk in her arm, and the pain shot up her shoulder, as her feet scrabbled for purchase. When she'd regained her balance, she looked up at her guide, and the thank you that had been forming died on her lips.

The grin on the man's face, the smile that had been too wide, too unnerving, had now become a ghastly sight of joy. Mamori realized what had unnerved her had been the man's eyes. His eyes had never changed, and had remained blank even when he'd been smiling.

Now, they looked alive.

And Mamori felt greater fear. She tried to pull her arm back, but the man's grip was tight. Without warning, her knee shot up to his groin.

While the man yowled, bending over in pain, Mamori ran. She skittered down the mountain trail, almost tumbling down at times, hands scraping painfully against the rocks and the trees.

When Mamori looked back, to her horror, the man was running after her, laughing. She broke away from the trail and plunged into the undergrowth.

She ran faster and faster, but she could hear him steadily coming, gaining on her. She slapped away branches, panic lapping at her chest. But she ran. Even as she felt his breathing, his strange hiccupping laughter growing louder, her legs and her lungs pumped. The red light of the sunset made the shadows of the forest strange, as if the shadows on the ground were writhing.

When she felt the hand on her shoulder, Mamori twisted away, slapping at him, and lost her footing. The last sight she saw before she fell was her guide's too-wide grin.

Then Mamori rolled down, hitting rocks, and tree roots, and the gritty soil. With a thud, she stopped at a ledge, and lay unmoving.

Above her, the guide began to whistle, as he started his way down.

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The End of Chapter 3: Equivalent Trade


	4. Fortyfour Steps

AN: Apologies for the long delay in the new chapter. Finals, the flu, and a family vacation. You all can imagine.

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Forty-four.

The guide decided that was how many steps it would take for him to reach the pretty young girl at the bottom. Forty-four. He began to make his way down the slope, humming to himself.

Forty-three. Forty-two. Forty-one. Pretty lady, pretty lady; here I come.

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Mamori was standing in an empty landscape.

She looked around, her brow wrinkling. It was a blank, featureless place. Nothing above her, below her or around her. And the light…

It was as if the pale light was coming from everywhere, and made it even more blank. But something caught her eye. A red string was on the ground leading off into the horizon. Mamori picked up the string and realized it was tied around her pinky. Well.

She looked at the string around her hand closely. It looked ordinary, not even shining or anything. It was something she could have picked out of her sewing kit. But there was something about the string that niggled at her. Something important was supposed to be happening. For the life of her, though, she couldn't remember what that important thing was or what about the string was bothering her.

She shrugged. Maybe, if she followed the string, she would get some answers. It was better than staying in this place, anyway. She began to walk forward, winding the string around her pinky as she did so.

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Thirty-five. Thirty-four. Thirty-three.

As pebbles and rocks fell from his quick, light steps, the guide took out his carving knife from his sheathe.

In the dying light, the guide's smile had turned ghastly.

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Something was making Mamori pick up her pace. She didn't know why, but something inside her was saying, _go faster. Faster_.

But soon enough, Mamori didn't need the voice to make her run.

She had seen something in the distance. Something familiar. Or someone.

Mamori's breath started coming in faster. She took the steps, her chest constricting. She was running the last length and she gasped, stopping a few feet away. She was right. All this time. She knew she was right. She was right. He was alive.

Mamori knelt beside the cot, not noticing anything anymore. Not the featureless landscape, not the strange light, not the red string that covered almost all of the floor's space. She raised her hand and slowly, fearfully, placed it on his chest, rising faintly. She didn't notice anything because the most important thing in the world was here now. Right here where she could see and touch and hear him. Crying, Mamori lay down beside Hiruma. She didn't even notice that the end of the red string wasn't tied to Hiruma's pinky finger.

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Twenty-four. Twenty-three. Twenty-two.

Love is oh so true. And death is, too.

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Over the faint breathing of Hiruma, Mamori began to hear another sound. She sat up.

It was a baby crying.

And once more, something niggled at Mamori. There was something she should remember. Something important.

Mamori stood up and she saw that there was another cot just four feet away from Hiruma's cot.

How could she have not noticed that? Mamori went up to the cot and knelt beside the crying baby. "Hush," she said, picking him up and sweeping the swaddling clothes aside. It was a boy and he looked up tearfully at Mamori. With Hiruma's eyes.

Mamori felt her arms go weak, and she lay down the babe. And as she lay him down, she saw the red string on her pinky. She stood and walked two steps to Hiruma and stopped. Because she saw that he didn't have the string on his finger. The red string hadn't led her to Hiruma. It had led her to something else. .

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Sixteen. Fifteen and fourteen! The guide began to leap.

Shame on him, pretty girl was waiting at the bottom. He couldn't make her wait. He would have to just speed things up.

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An old nut brown man sitting among the roots of the tree in the distance. A lonely image in the horizon of this featureless plase. He was wagging a finger at Mamori. _I especially like this manga called Full-Metal Alchemist. It's very well-made. And xxxHolic. Too cute, too cute. And both tell the truth about this universe. You can't lose something for nothing and you can't get something for nothing. Equivalent trade. Equivalent trade. _

"Damn you, Hayashida-san. Damn you. Is this it? Is this the choice you were talking about? His life or the baby's?"

And the old man was shaking his head. _You're a very nice girl; I would never wish you the unhappiness of choosing. I'm sorry_.

"No, you can't make me choose who will live. You can't make me do this. You can't, damn you. You can't. You can't." Mamori could no longer see the mirage of Hayashida-san, as tears blurred and stung her eyes, but she heard his voice.

_It's about to get dark soon. It's about to get dark soon._ _That guide should be—_

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TEN! The guide grinned. Now, now. Maybe he could just look for a second. Wouldn't want the fun to be over.

He began to take mincing steps. NINE. EIGHT.

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—_here about NOW. _

And Mamori stood up, feeling Hayashida's urgency. She looked at Hiruma, sleeping. She looked at the baby, with Hiruma's eyes and her smile. And her breath hitched.

_Mamori-chan. It's about to get dark soon. It's about to get dark soon. That guide—_

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SEVEN.

Mamori shook her head. She began to spool the red thread. Memories began to flood her with each winding around her finger.

She remembered the time she had run after Hiruma, asking him why he hadn't picked Yukimitsu even though he had finished the Death March.

_You already know so you don't need to ask, fucking manager._

_I don't mean to be ironic, Hiruma, _she had asked him, looking away, _but doesn't anything else matter to you other than winning._

_There's no such thing, fucking manager. You lose, that's it. Same for the fucking baldy._

Mamori laughed, tears still blurring her eyes, "I guess it's the same for us, huh, Hiruma?"

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SIX

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Mamori thought about the future. Thought about this strangely-conceived baby. With just a half-dreamt man who was alive but somewhere else. With a woman who was being swallowed up by grief. Bit by bit.

He would be exactly like her, Mamori realized, and exactly like Hiruma. And not at all like them. He would be sweet, but extremely persuasive. He would follow the rules, but make sure that those rules would suit him. And the only people he wouldn't be able to con or sweetly persuade would be herself and Hiruma because he would be puzzled by both of his parents.

She spooled the last length and taking the other end of the red string, sat by the baby, gently tying the string around his finger. He cooed at her. And it was disorienting, the cooing with Hiruma's eyes.

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FIVE. FOUR.

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Mamori stood up. And untied the string around her pinky.

_That guide should be here about now._

She nodded. "I know, Hayashida-san. But I'm not afraid." And she could almost see the old man grin. _I didn't think you would be._

She went to Hiruma and tied her end to him. She knelt and kissed him, his cheek and his ear. And she began to whisper. A last message that was nothing too complicated.

She loved him.

Take care of the baby.

Remember me.

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THREE

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She might die-no, she corrected herself, she would die-but what she had done here would ensure that the baby would live. One way or another, the baby and Hiruma was tied now. They would live.

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TWO. The guide began to laugh, a high-pitched laughter, a sudden sound that disturbed a nearby tree, full of birds. They took flight, squawking.

The guide held the gleaming carving knife, before him, point up with his other fist under the pommel. _Oh, let the gods above see this_, he thought, grinning.

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Mamori stood up. She turned around and faced the horizon of this featureless place. The light, she thought now, had changed. It was coming from the horizon.

She took a step forward and almost tripped.

She caught herself, and looked down and saw a long-fingered hand gripping her ankle.

She turned and saw Hiruma's eyes open and glaring at her.

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ONE.

The guide took a step forward and tripped.

If only he had lived, he would have thought about—been scared by—feeling a hand suddenly grabbing his ankle. Making him lose his balance and making him land on his knife.

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In America, in a hospital in Las Vegas, the curvaceous blonde nurse jumped back in fright.

Patient X, the one who had come here two years ago with so much money but with so many false identities that the FBI and CIA were still investigating him, had never moved. In all that time that he had lain here in the hospital, he had never moved.

She had taken care of him throughout the years and he hadn't even blinked.

But now, his eyes were wide open as his hand was gripping something invisible. He was glaring and it seemed that he was glaring at something beyond her.

But nonetheless, it scared her.

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End of Chapter 4: Fourty-four Steps


	5. Phantoms in the Womb and of the Future

"Mary Tudor, Queen of England in the 16th century, thought herself to be pregnant. When she found out she was not, she embarked on the persecutions that made her reign infamous."

-Paulman, P. & Sadat, A. May 1990. "Psuedocyesis." _Journal of Family Practice._

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It was just like those mornings, those awakenings. She was drifting awake, hovering between dreaming and consciousness. The stream of sunlight is in her eyes. And she can swear to you, that she can smell his aftershave, she can swear that it is his hand on her shoulder, it is his long fingers lightly and impatiently drumming on her shoulder. And she is already thinking, _no. I don't want him to keep haunting me._

"Wake up, fucking manager."

And it was just automatic. "Don't call me that!" she said, her voice still containing the last dregs of sleepiness.

And Mamori's eyes popped open and she sat up in one motion, looking at him. Even the headache and the dragging weakness in her muscles could not compete for attention. Hiruma was sitting on a chair beside her hospital bed, sprawled on it, in fact, looking at her moodily.

He was too pale. Too thin. His eyes were dark and his hair wasn't bleached. It was black. But he still had earrings on. And Mamori found that she could not speak.

"How about fucking idiot? That more appropriate? How many women out there get themselves alone with a psycho in a fucking mountain?"

She flushed. "He was a guide," she snapped.

Hiruma sat up and leaned forward, his teeth gleaming. "Oh, perfect. You deliberately took the psycho as your guide. Not only a fucking _idiot_, but fucking suicidal, as well."

She put her hands on the bed and leaned in, as well, getting into his face. "I didn't," she said, grinding her teeth, "know that he was a psycho."

"Is that so? So, I guess, you're just left with the option of fucking idiot."

"And you're still rude and bad-tempered, maybe you should have kept away." And Mamori, found to her shock, that she was being swept into Hiruma's arms, her face pressed against his chest.

She also found she could not help the tears.

"Are you really sure you want to say that?" He said, above her, without inflection.

"No, I don't. Damn you, Hiruma. You were gone for _years!_ And I missed you so much that I was going crazy. Goddamn you, what the hell kept you?"

And he did not answer her, only held her body being racked by sobs. After awhile, her sobs subsided. "I kept seeing you," she said dully, holding limply to his shirt that was wet with her tears. "I kept feeling you were beside me. I kept hearing your voice. I was even—" Mamori abruptly stopped and pulled away from Hiruma, her eyes wide. "What happened to the baby?"

And Mamori could feel her heart breaking in that moment that Hiruma's face pulled into a fierce frown and he said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

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"It's called pseudocyesis." Igawa-_sensei_ said, clearing her throat. Her kindly face was now etched with worry, lines drawn taut. "It's also known as phantom pregnancy or false pregnancy. It's a comparatively rare condition where women sometimes exhibit symptoms of pregnancy, from amenorrhea or interruption of your menstruation, morning sickness—

"Are hospital pregnancy tests accurate, _Sensei_?"

Igawa-_sensei _cleared her throat again and shifted in her seat. "It's a serious emotional and psychological condition. Experts haven't really agreed on the universal cause, but it could be emotional conflict, intense desire or wish-fulfillment, and depression, in which shifts in your hormones fool your body into thinking—"

"How accurate," Mamori said again, never raising her voice, "are those hospital pregnancy tests?"

"Well," Igawa-_sensei_ sighed, "We can be wrong, as well. In fact, 18% of all cases of pseudocyesis have been diagnosed by medical practitioners as pregnant. Of course, we are interested in investigating the case, further, Mamori-san, we can keep you overnight. This is a very interesting case and your mother was telling me, Mamori-san, that you had been quite, quite depressed for some time, enough to have hallucinations. This sounds like it would fit the cause and you can get treated for—"

Now, it was the shrill scrape of the chair stopped Igawa-_sensei. _Or perhaps it was the expression on Hiruma's face. "She is not staying," was all he said.

And that was that.

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Hiruma was still expressionless as he buckled Mamori in.

"Imagine that, I was just imagining it," she said brightly. "I guess you have literally driven me crazy." And she started to laugh.

Hiruma put a hand over her mouth, and only looked at her; Mamori laid a hand over his, her hand gripping tight. Then she removed his hand. "Can you take me somewhere?" She said, the laughter all gone.

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They were going up the mountain and their guide was a bright-eyed young lad. Mamori was sure that he was no killer this time even though he kept looking back at her, his eyes huge in his face. Hiruma's fierce expression had kept him at a distance, however, and only prompted Mamori's laughter.

"You'll get yours later," he murmured.

She ignored him and smiled brightly, "So, are the FBI and CIA still bothering you?"

Hiruma snorted. "I already worked that out even before I left the United States."

"So, why we're there so many Americans outside my hospital room when I woke up," she asked curiously.

"They were Secret Service. My temporary bodyguard detail." He answered, grinning, his sharp teeth glinting.

Mamori laughed again. When they found themselves on the rise, Mamori's eyes drifted as her laughter faded.

She was right.

Hayashida-san was sitting under the very same tree, looking for all the world as if he hadn't moved an inch since she had left him, in what had seemed like a life-time ago.

She walked to him, Hiruma trailing behind and the young lad staying in the clearing.

"Hello, Hayashida-san."

Hayashida shielded his eyes against the sun and beamed at her. "Ah, Mamori-chan, and that must be the young man behind you. So good to see you in the flesh. Come, come, sit by me."

Mamori took the root by his right side and she looked back at Hiruma who was only raising an eyebrow. "I think I'll wait with the guide. And maybe just have a talk with him."

"Hiruma!" Mamori stopped at Hayashida's hand restraining her arm. She looked at him as he grinned and nodded.

Hiruma said nothing, and turned back, walking to the young lad who already looked terrified at the prospect of waiting with Hiruma.

"He is a handsome devil, my child."

Mamori looked back at Hayashida and laughed. "Yes, I suppose so."

"It's good that you are well. I was afraid he wouldn't get to you."

Mamori's brow wrinkled. "But he didn't. He said he was still in the United States when the people at the _onsen_ finally found me."

"Mmm-hmm." Hayashida only smiled.

"Anyway," Mamori pulled out her spool of red thread. "It didn't work. There was no baby. I really was just dreaming him up."

Hayashida took the thread. "Of course, if you say so."

Mamori paused, the resentment rising in her. She had been a good girl all her life, now a good woman; she was kind, caring and truly compassionate. But she was also human. "Don't give me that," she said in a low voice. "Don't give me your riddles and your mysticism. I tied the ends of the thread between them! I was not going to pick one over the other! But the baby is still…" and she shook her head, hands rising to cradle her forehead. She felt Hayashida's fingers tip her chin up and she was looking into Hayashida's eyes. They had seemed to deepen, and deepen even more, as if now they could contain entire universes. "Perhaps, you were not the only one choosing?"

Mamori sucked her breath in, remembering Hiruma's hand on her ankle. "But that's…that…" She looked back at Hiruma together with the young lad. He was grinning as he was speaking to the young lad, who looked twice as terrified now. Did Mamori imagine it or did his eyes seem harder? "A baby can't choose," she said sadly. "And I didn't want anyone making the choice for me."

"You did make your choice, Mamori-chan. And true, a baby cannot speak up for itself. But perhaps you shouldn't box yourself. Time and space, after all, are not separate things in dreams."

Mamori looked back at him, annoyed. "I've told you, Hayashida-san. Please, no more mysticism."

Hayashida-san laughed, "Think back, Mamori-chan. Think back to the times that you saw Hiruma, that you felt him, especially _on that night_ and tell me if it's just mysticism."

Mamori opened her mouth and closed it again.

Hayashida grinned at her, "Think of that place as a…temporary nursery. Your young man, after all, is still tied to the baby, yes?" And he nodded beyond her.

Mamori's head whipped back and she almost stopped breathing. In the streaming sunlight, something was glinting off Hiruma's left pinky. It was so thin, even thinner than a spider's thread. But it was there, all the same.

A string leading away.

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The End of Chapter 5: Phantoms in the Womb and of the Future

The End of Shadow and Smoke


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